What Happens In Post-Apocalyptic Vegas
by fasciculus
Summary: When Captain James T. Kirk and his first officer, Spock, find themselves stranded in a curiously deserted future Las Vegas, they take it upon themselves to discover what caused the ruin of the city before working out how they'll get back to the ship. In the meantime, they opt to take on a new motto for their personal affairs: what happens in Vegas /stays/ in Vegas...
1. Prologue

~Prologue~

"Captain, we're receiving a distress signal."

Captain James T. Kirk spun round in his chair, sensing the worry in the communications officer's voice. "Who is it, Lieutenant?"

"I… I can't work out most of it but I think it's English. American. Jim, I…" Lieutenant Nyota Uhura turned round to face him, frowning, "I think it's from Earth."

Jim got up and walked over to her, leaning on the back of Nyota's chair. "Impossible," he whispered, "we aren't near Earth, nowhere near. We're hundreds of light years away. Are you sure?"

"I'm not sure, but it seems…"

Jim walked over to the elevator. "Spock, you're coming with me," he nodded to his first officer, failing to supress a smile as he felt Spock's arm brush against his own, "Nyota, send a biologist and two engineers to the transporter room to meet Spock and I in ten minutes. Have Bones come up to the bridge as acting captain whilst we're down there."

Nyota jumped up out of her seat, worried about the captain's brash decision. "Captain, we're not even sure where 'down there' is! You can't just…"

The captain was entirely aware that this planet may not be Earth at all. The slight and unlikely chance that it was, however, was what swung him to make such a quick decision. "We can't just leave Earth in danger, no."


	2. Chapter One

It was… not impossible, no, but highly improbable, as his Vulcan friend might say. Casinos and hotels which used to stand tall and glow against the dark night desert skies were now in ruins - paint peeling off of the walls of the previously grand buildings, smashed window panes which had shattered to create the illusion of a thousand stars on the empty pathways, broken signs which once lit bright enough to show their names a hundred miles away. A few rusting cars lay on their sides or roofs along the roadsides, some looking as if they could have once been fit for royalty. Fountains had stopped working, their waters brown with dirt and grime. Palm trees were naked of any leaves and grass had turned yellow in places that there was even any grass left. Perhaps most shocking of all, however, was that the city's population seemed non-existent. There was not a single sign of any recent life in the city which was famed for feeling alive.

"But… but this is Vegas. _Vegas_." Jim shook his head in pure shock, recounting his trip here only a matter of years ago. It couldn't be Vegas, not the same Vegas. That Vegas was heaving with life – flashing lights, obsessive gamblers, drunken newlyweds, bad Elvis tributes. Surely this couldn't be the same place, could it? He could remember the time and money he'd wasted in the colossal casinos in a petty attempt to impress the women and men by whom he was surrounded. He could remember the lions which greeted him in the lobby of the MGM hotel. He could remember the night dedicated to watching cheesy (yet incredibly accurate) tribute acts of classic 20th century singers. He couldn't remember it all – who could remember their whole drunken trip to Las Vegas? – but the memories he kept were more than enough to remind him of this city's former glory.

"Evidently, Jim. So where are all the people?" As ever, the science officer remained completely cool, even in his clear uncertainty.

The captain merely shook his head in reply, evidently equally unsure regarding the situation. "Johnston, collect samples of any fragment of life you can find."

"Of course, Captain, right away." Charlie Johnston was an extremely attractive biologist and Enterprise's newest recruit. He possessed a head of golden curls which shone against the desert sun and had a tall, non-muscular figure. He somehow managed to hold the physical qualities of a boy yet appeared so mature in his appearance he seemed almost impossible in looks. He was very young and also very eager to show his potential as a crew member and jumped at the chance to take part in this mission. The boy ran down the road and turned the first corner along.

"Adams, Jay, take a look at the vehicles, see what you can find," the two also young redshirts who both had extremely striking features – Michael Adams' red hair and Peter Jay's bright green eyes - nodded and walked towards an overturned car near to the corner Charlie had turned down.

"Jim, I find it logical that we should take a look at a hotel. It would be highly unlikely, judging by the condition of our surroundings, but perhaps we shall meet someone inside who can inform us on the current state of the city." Spock raised an eyebrow in question at Jim who nodded in reply. The two of them made their way to the closest hotel – The Mirage.

Even in the eerie silence, the hotel's reception was beautiful. The lobby was famed for its huge freshwater aquarium which was once full of exotic sea life. It was strange to see the same tank so lifeless. The ceiling lights, apparently motion detecting, flickered (or the ones that hadn't been smashed did, at least). The floor was covered by the debris of smashed glass and china in a pattern which closely resembled a mosaic and the corners of the designer wallpaper had begun to peel. The whole of the atrium seemed as though it had been rioted years ago, decades even. Jim felt a shiver trickle through his entire body as he took in the ruined, yet somehow still elegant, surroundings. He noticed his first officer had walked behind the front desk and stepped up to it in order to see what he was doing. "What does it say?" He gestured at the technologically advanced computer which Spock had turned on a few moments ago.

Spock slid his fingers up the screen, scrolling down its current page. "it's the guest list, Jim. It appears that nobody's checked in since…" he scrolled back up again, "since 2806."

Jim rushed over to the other side of the desk, resting a hand on Spock's shoulder as he looked at the screen, "but that's… that's the future."

Spock nodded "yes, our future. It says here, however, that today's date is December 12th, 2855."

Jim turned around to take in his surroundings once more: the fragments of smashed glass, the peeling wallpaper, the empty aquarium, the deserted city. Was this Earth's future? Jim pulled his communicator from his pocket and flicked it open in order to make contact with Enterprise.

"Have you visited the city before?" Spock asked, looking around at the destroyed reception.

Jim looked up from his communicator after failing to contact the ship, "yes, a few years before joining Starfleet. You're lucky I didn't know you then!"

"Why so, Jim?" He raised an eyebrow, seemingly puzzled by his captain's remark. Jim always enjoyed bearing witness to Spock's confusion – it was a rare thing, and to think he had induced it was both satisfying and amusing to him. "What happens in Vegas?"

"It's not your sort of trip, Spock. It's a place to enjoy yourself and do things you wouldn't normally… a liminal space, if you like. People come here to drink and go out but end up gambling all of their money away and getting married to somebody they've never met until that night. Normally in Elvis costumes," Jim began to laugh at the thought of Spock at his own pink church based Vegas wedding, wearing a full Elvis costume from wig to shoes, speaking like Elvis whilst completely paralytic on chocolate... now that'd be something he'd pay to see.

"Everything OK, Jim?" Spock enquired, wondering about Jim's sudden laughter.

"Uh-huh," Jim replied, doing the best Elvis impersonation he could through all his laughter. Shaking his head and taking a deep breath, the Starship captain managed to calm himself, "OK, I'm done, I'll stop now, I just… oh, Spock. How much chocolate would you need to eat before you'd consider wearing an Elvis costume? I think it'd be good entertainment for the Christmas party."

"Unfortunately for your own wishes, I, myself, do not wish to wear any such costume. Did you speak to the ship?" Spock turned back to the computer in order to examine this future technology of Earth.

"I couldn't get hold of them. I'll try again in a while," Kirk bent down and picked up a piece of broken glass, taking a closer look.

"Jim, this technology looks similar to ours on the surface but," Spock turned round to face the crouching captain, "it's unfathomably advanced. There's near to nothing which is unachievable for this computer, and I assume that this isn't the latest model."

"Mm," Jim nodded, still looking at the glass, "I expected so much. We're more than 500 years in our future. But how? We didn't travel in time – we weren't going nearly fast enough for that. Perhaps this planet possesses its own independent time frame. It's clearly a replica of Earth," the captain nodded to himself, considering his thoughts, "yes; it must be a future version of our own planet. That, I'm certain of. Any idea how everything got into such a state?" He stood up and looked at his first officer who was frowning as he looked upon the mess.

"I am not so sure that this is a replica of Earth. A future Earth, however, is an unlikely theory which is somehow also the only logical one. As for the mess, it was, clearly, deliberate. I believe it was most likely caused by human rioting," he looked at his captain and shook his head, "but for what reason I do not know. I'm sorry, Jim."

"An unlikely theory, yes. Didn't a relative of yours once say 'once you've ruled out the impossible…'?"

"'Whatever remains, however improbable, must be true.' Yes, a distant human relative. I am impressed with your memory on this occasion."

The captain smiled to his friend, throwing the piece of broken glass on the floor as he began to walk out of the lobby. "Let's see if anyone's found anything."

The afternoon desert sun burned hot on their faces, warranting Jim to shield his eyes. Spock, who had lived on Vulcan, was finely adapted to such heats but his captain was not so comfortable. He felt uneasy in his thick gold shirt and found himself wishing to wear anything other than his Starfleet uniform. They had brought with them no water, no spare clothing, nothing at all which could cool Jim down. He could feel sweat patches begin to form and noticed that he was becoming increasingly dizzy.

"Spock, I…" Jim squeezed his eyes shut in obvious discomfort and wiped the sweat from his brow.

"Jim, would you like for us to stop for a second?" Spock placed his hand on the man's arm, worried about his friend's condition.

"It's too hot, it's too hot," the captain shook his head, trying to gather some sense. If he could just have a drink and change his clothes he'd be fine, he was sure, "what's the temperature?"

"I estimate that it is around 38°C. What do you need?"

"I need a drink and a change of clothes."

"I'll contact the ship. It is probable that they can beam down some clothing." Spock took out his own communicator and attempted to contact the ship. As with Jim's earlier attempt, however, he had no success. "Spock to Enterprise, come in," he spoke into the communicator, trying to try to get into touch with their crew but having no such luck. Flipping its lid closed, he put the communicator back into his pocket. "Apologies, Jim."

Jim shook his head. "No, Spock, don't apologise. It's fine. Let's just find the others and get a god damn drink." He resumed walking with Spock who followed him as faithfully as ever. "What's wrong with the communicators?"

"I do not know, Jim. I assume some form of radiation is blocking the subspace frequency I intend to take a closer look at the communicators later on if they continue to fail to work. I expect within the next few hours they should begin to operate correctly once more. If not, we will be stranded in Las Vegas until we find a way to repair them."

"OK, I don't th-" Jim began to reply but was stopped midsentence. Not far in the distance he could see a body lying on the floor, apparently dead. "Spock! Look," he pointed towards his sighting. This was the first body they'd seen since their arrival on this ostensibly deserted future-Earth; perhaps this one could offer a biological explanation as to why the planet was derelict.

Spock did not reply but instead came to a standstill, wide eyed and pale faced in shock.

"Spock, come on, this might be our only opportunity to get some information on the no-longer-existent population." Jim started to run towards the body, forgetting all about his previous dehydration and fatigue. He turned round to call back to his friend who was still yet to follow. "Please, Spock. I can't examine this body without you," he shouted in a sarcastically loving tone but, despite his sarcasm, couldn't help feeling marginally embarrassed by his romantic remark.

Spock simply shook his head in reply.

It wasn't until Jim turned back around that he realised why his first officer had offered such a reaction. As he got slowly closer to the body he saw and he understood; the jet black trousers which stood out against the light dusty road, the pale skin glared which in the sunlit surroundings, the bright strawberry hair which glowed against the white backdrop. But the giveaway? The now unmistakable Starfleet uniform red shirt. This wasn't just a body. This was the younger of the two engineers Jim had brought down to this desolate city.

Michael Adams was dead.


	3. Chapter Two

Jim felt, to put it quite simply, sick. Only half an hour ago the young man had been stood before him and now Michael Adams lay dead on the floor in front of him, his face still flushed with the life he possessed perhaps mere moments ago. The captain knelt down beside the engineer, shaking his head in horror. He heard the footsteps of his first officer behind him but did not look away from Michael's body. He pressed his fingers against the man's neck, searching for a pulse he knew was not there. He found, of course, nothing. "He's… he's dead," he took away his hand and looked up at Spock for some sort of comfort. "We shouldn't have left everyone outside… we shouldn't have let this happen. How could I let him die, Spock?" Jim whispered.

"It is not your fault, Jim. Please do not blame yourself." Spock pulled his friend up from the floor and placed a hand on the captain's shoulder in consolation.

"It is, though. Look around, Spock!" He gestured at the area around them, "this place is deserted and I have no idea why. An obvious assumption would be that the population is dead. Everyone is dead and I thought it would be a good idea to leave three young crewmembers to wander about in search for an answer whilst we went indoors away from it all! Why the hell would I think that that was a good idea? I'm an idiot, Spock; Michael Adams is dead and it's my fault." Jim pulled away from Spock's grasp and turned around to hide the tear that was falling down his cheek. "I've killed him."

"Are you aware that you're being highly irrational? You did not kill Adams. You instructed him as a captain should. You sent him to inspect the overturned vehicles, not to die."

"He died under _my _instruction!" Jim shouted, turning round to face his friend once more, "are you saying that this is his own fault?"

"I have said no such thing," Spock replied coolly, attempting to ignore the captain's anger, "I believe that you have misinterpreted my words. All I meant was that you did not tell him to die thus no blame for what has happened is to be placed on you. I do not at all suppose that you would have sent him to inspect the vehicles had you have considered that he may die in the process. This is in no way your fault so please stop blaming yourself."

The captain looked utterly mortified; how could Spock not see that had Jim have not left him outside he would still be alive? He stepped towards Spock, just close enough to touch him, and shouted once more, "of course I didn't think that he would die! The point is that I should have at least considered the possibility and I didn't and now, because I didn't, a man is dead! Perhaps even three men – we don't know where the other two are right now. I should have considered it, Spock. I shouldn't have been so careless in my deliberations. I am the captain and it is my responsibility to ensure the safety of my crew. I have failed in my principle duty."

"Jim, I believe you may be having a delusion of some description. As your first officer it is my duty to offer my advice whenever it is needed. In this instance, I am advising you to stop blaming yourself. You really have done nothing wrong." Spock gave a slight smile in an attempt to reassure his captain.

"No, you don't understand… maybe it's not my fault but that's not how I feel. I can't look at this logically like you, Spock. I don't know how. I have to blame myself because of my emotions. I _feel_ guilty."

"I am aware of this, Jim, but please at least try to be rational. I would not lie to you; if I believed Adams' death was due to fault of your own," Spock closed the gap between the two of them and touched Jim's hand with his own, "I would tell you." He was now close enough feel each of his captain's hot, heavy breaths on his own skin. He could feel his heart racing in his chest, his stomach fluttering with apprehension. Generally, Spock found it easy to suppress urges to express any romantic desires towards Jim but he was, currently, finding it entirely impossible; he could not push the thought of Jim's velvety lips, his warm hands, the half-smile he offered whenever he saw Spock, the feeling of Jim's soft golden hair on his fingertips out of his mind. Spock pressed his fore and middle fingers onto Jim's.

Sure enough, Jim gave that half-smile, "Spock, I appreciate the way you feel but," he looked over to Michael's body, "there is a man dead. I don't think now is the time for… for this," the captain gently brushed Spock's cheek with his hand before kneeling down beside Michael Adams' body. The young man's lips were slightly blue, as were his fingertips, and his eyes were still open. There was, however, no obvious sign of how he had died. There were no bruises caused by fingertips or fists, no blood except for where he had hit his head as he had fallen, no bones appeared to be broken and no evidence of an allergic reaction was apparent. In fact, Michael's body looked to be in perfect condition. "Spock," the captain looked up from the body to his friend, "what do you make of this? Other than the obvious fact that he's dead, he looks just fine."

Kneeling down beside Jim, Spock took a close look at the body. He too noticed the lack of damage to Michael's body. It wasn't until he lifted the man's head that he noticed something abnormal. On the ground lay locks of curly red hair and all over Michael Adam's head were patches which held no hair at all. As far as Spock was aware, the young engineer did not suffer from alopecia or any other illness which resulted in hair loss. "It would be logical to assume that some form of illness is to blame for Adam's death and that hair loss is a symptom."

"Do you think this is what happened to everyone else here?"

"It is a sensible theory, yes, and if it has happened to Adams in such a small amount of time there is a great chance that our other crewmembers may have met the same death. I believe it is something outside causing the sickness as we have been inside and are yet to display any abnormal symptoms. Being Vulcan I do not think that it is as probable that I should contract the illness whereas you, Jim, have a much larger chance. It is too dangerous for you to continue on out here for now. I advise that you go back to The Mirage."

"You're half human, though, so surely this gives you more of a chance?" Jim was concerned about his first officer and did not wish for him to stay out here alone; should something happen to him, the captain would never find out. He also didn't wish to walk back to the hotel unaccompanied for a similar reason. "And regardless of that, there weren't just humans in Las Vegas before," he pointed around them, "this happened. I don't know about you, but I can't see anyone here at all, Vulcans included. I think you should come back to the hotel with me. Considering the electricity is somehow still working, it may well be that there is water available, too. If that's so, we should probably take a shower seeing as we've both touched Michael's body and probably been exposed to the disease in other ways."

Spock nodded in thought before agreeing with him, "you make a logical point, Jim. It would be beneficial to bring Adams back with us though it would also put us in danger. Are you comfortable with leaving him here?"

"It doesn't seem like we've got much choice in the matter. Shall we?" Jim nodded in the direction of the hotel.

The Mirage was just as they had found it earlier on – derelict in its entirety. Kirk felt absolutely terrible following the death of Michael Adams and the sights of Las Vegas didn't help a great deal at all. Everything here was so _dead_. He wished that Bones was here to prescribe him a well needed drink. Right now he wanted nothing more; he was tired, stressed out, overheating, worried about getting back to the ship, nervous about Spock's earlier advances. He knew from experience of Vegas hotels that the closest bar would be the nearest room to the foyer, most likely situated in the casino. "Want to grab a drink?" he called to Spock, knowing that his most likely answer would have something to do with the lack of logic with regards to alcohol.

"As I have told you before, Jim, Vulcans are unaffected by alcohol. For me to consume it would be entirely illogical."

Predictable enough, Jim supposed. "Want me to grab you a chocolate bar?" He laughed, before realising that that actually would be a 'logical' thing to do. Spock raised an eyebrow in note of his captain's mockery and Jim realised there was a chance his light statement had offended him, "no, I didn't mean it like that. I just mean, seeing as I'm going to have a drink, you might want to join me by eating some chocolate seeing as that's the Vulcan equivalent."

"I believe our time would be better spent attempting to repair the communicators."

"Look, Spock, it's been a difficult day and I am hot and bothered. There is no way I'm going to be able to concentrate on something like repairing the communicators right now. We have found a member of our crew dead and I am excessively stressed. I need a drink. I _deserve _a drink. And I don't wish to be alone in doing so."

"But Jim -" Spock started but was interrupted by his captain.

"Take that as an order if you won't do it for me. Just relax for a while. We'll get back to sorting things out in the morning." The captain led his first officer past the seating in the lobby and through a huge tinted glass door, its glass chipped and scratched and its handle hanging half-off, through the smashed up (but somehow still flashing) casino and to the bar. Jim swung himself over the bar and looked through the cupboards, finding one bottle which hadn't been smashed. "50 year old classic Earth vodka… worth a try, I suppose."

"At such an age, the alcohol will have reached an excessive maturity making it extremely strong. It is advisable that you do not consume a great deal of the substance." Spock sat down, looking around in confusion as he pondered humanity's love for the thrill and danger of gambling and their obsession with alcohol.

Jim leaned against the bar and looked to Spock, acting as the bartender would. "Can I get you a drink or anything, Sir? Those pointy ears suggest that you might want something a little different, perhaps…"

Spock rolled his eyes at Jim's playfulness but continued his charade all the same. "I have been informed that you sell chocolate, which would be more to my demand. Is this the case?"

The captain laughed in pleasant surprise at the fact that Spock was actually joining in, well aware that he was doing so purely to humour him. He looked to the fridge and cupboards but found no chocolate. "I'm afraid we seem to be all out of chocolate, Sir. We do offer _hot _chocolate, though, if that would be to your liking?"

Spock faked an agitated sigh, causing Kirk to beam with excitement (Spock wasn't really one to play about, as such), and finally replied with "very well, then."

After figuring out how to actually work the hot drinks machine, Jim quickly made up Spock's hot chocolate and handed it to him. He then poured a drink of his own – an extremely flat (and presumably unpleasant, judging by the use by date) edition of classic vodka and cola. After that, he swung himself back over the bar to sit with Spock. "And so the night begins," he said, a huge grin on his face, "let's see how many of these we can get down without being sick."

"I think I should inform you that you shall only be able to drink three or four whereas I shall be capable of a much larger consumption. Perhaps eleven." The science officer offered a smirk to his captain who, in reply, opened his mouth in shock.

"Was that a challenge, Spock?!"

"It was simply a fact, unless you wish to interpret it as otherwise."

"Prepare to be wrong."


End file.
